


Vacations for Dark Lords

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last decade had been a very, very tiring one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vacations for Dark Lords

When Voldemort had first inhabited Quirrell's body, he'd had a great many expectations. For the first time in a decade, he now had a human form. He could impact the outside world far more easily than as a snake, do actual magic, and finally communicate with beings that didn't slither and had actual legs on which to walk. And, of course, beings that actually had a mind. Ones who could think in complex sentences instead of just about where the closest mouse or warm rock was.

The last decade had been a very, very tiring one.

To his extreme dissatisfaction, this new era did not seem to be much brighter.

He'd known Quirrell wouldn't be the perfect host. He'd known his faults very intimately once he'd inhabited him: he was physically weak, magically nearly incompetent, and intellectually lacking. And he was spineless, which Voldemort usually liked, but it was grating to hear Quirrell's mental whimpers day in and day out. He couldn't even curse Quirrell without feeling the pain himself, which Voldemort thought gave Quirrell too much leeway. It made him even angrier, made Quirrell even more hopeless, and the chain went on.

In his haste to obtain a body, he hadn't considered Quirrell's job (other than believing it to be a boon, an easy way to creep into Hogwarts without Dumbledore's notice). If his younger self, who'd been taken with the idea of becoming a professor, had known about the horrors of children, teenagers, and bureaucracy, he would've bid goodbye to the castle upon his graduation and never returned.

Voldemort had to deal with: children who couldn't sit still through a lesson without causing trouble (and a school policy that wouldn't allow him to crucio them), teenagers who felt each other up under desks and in every dratted corner of the school, Trelawney's horrifying attempts to hit on him, trying to be inconspicuous when the damn Potter brat's curse scar-driven headaches pointed toward him like a beacon, Dumbledore's friendly old man routine (Voldemort hated lemon drops with a passion as hot as fiendfyre), fourteen classes' papers to grade, and, the worst of them all, parent-teacher conferences.

As someone who was pretending to be an esteemed professional, Voldemort couldn't turn down the right of parents to ask after their children—and come in to ask and talk in person when they decided letters weren't enough.

Which was why, instead of lurking in his dark chambers and plotting the death of one Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort's Saturday evening on a fine September night consisted of sitting across from Molly Weasley and nodding at the appropriate places.

"He really is a good boy," she was saying, clutching her hands together and staring uncomfortably intently into his eyes.

Voldemort had checked twice, but she had no legilimency or occlumency skills. She was just very earnest. It was horrifying.

He nodded and hummed when she stopped talking, which caused her to begin extolling her youngest son's virtues once again. It was pitiful, the lengths parents went to to convince him that their children really didn't deserve bad marks, they were just growing boys and girls, they just needed extra help or an extra push. Ronald Weasley wasn't the worst of the lot (that honor lied with Crabbe and Goyle's welps, who probably hadn't been able to figure out how to breathe without an hour long lecture on it), but he was more irritating and loud and lazy than the other idiots.

"He just has some—issues, after growing up with five older brothers. The others have been prefects, head boys, just plain popular, and poor Ron has always been in their shadow. That's why he's been acting up. He just needs to find his own way."

Voldemort sighed. "Of course, Mrs. Weasley. And he can find his own way by being able to make up the past two assignments. But this is the last time." It wasn't. Quirrell had been soft, which meant Voldemort had to give parents and students alike chance after chance. Otherwise, he'd be stuck on the other end of Dumbledore's disappointed frown.

As Molly began to thank him for the second time this month, Voldemort had a very interesting thought. He hated being inside Quirrell. He hated teaching, hated children, hated everything about this. And when he hated something, he—now that he was older and powerful—could always get rid of it.

He didn't truly need to stay at Hogwarts. Oh, he wanted the Philosopher's Stone, but there were other ways of finding immortality. He could always simply seek out the Flamels and indulge in a spot of torture. He didn't have to continue with his plan of drinking unicorn blood if he simply hid himself for a time, allowing his magic and sanity to regenerate.

All he needed, he thought as he stared at the woman before him, was a safe, unpredictable place to hide.

And there was nowhere better than the mind of a witch who had been in the Order (and thus knew many secrets he'd like to have) but hadn't been on the front lines (and wasn't powerful enough to keep him out). Her family could be dealt with an easy imperius curse, or just a potion to suggest that there was nothing wrong with the way their mother was behaving.

Voldemort smiled. Quirrelll opened his mouth and a cloud of gray smoke flew out from inside him. Molly threw a shield charm, but it didn't protect against the incorporeal, and Voldemort settled inside her quite easily. Her mind was easy enough to bind to a small part of her brain, and her body was larger than Quirrelll's, and thus far more comfortable.

"My lord?" asked Quirrelll, who'd just come back into wakefulness.

"I will owl you your orders," Voldemort told him. "For now, do not give yourself away."

"Yes, my lord," he said, bowing his head. "Would you like me to walk you out?"

And so they crossed the building without a second glance from student or teacher alike, and reached the end of the wards. Voldemort's hazy memory of the first war brought up the hovel that was the Burrow, and Molly's memories reinforced the image. He spun with a pop much quieter than the real Molly's could ever be and appeared in the small downstairs kitchen.

On the table was a bowl of chocolate chip cookies. Voldemort sampled one, and idly ate the rest. This was going to be a very good vacation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
